Requiem
by Mlle Bienvenu
Summary: The unthinkable occurs, Harry Potter is dead. What happens now?
1. Prologue

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches.  
  
Born to those who have thrice defied him Born as the seventh month dies And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, But he will have power the Dark Lord knows not And either must die at the hand of the other For neither can live while the other survives  
  
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord Will be born as the seventh month dies  
  
-Sybil Trelawney ~~~  
  
"Neville!" Someone shoved Neville hard, knocking him off balance and sending him stumbling sideways.  
  
"Avada Kedavra."  
  
Time seemed to slow for Severus as the green lightening arced from the wand and sliced through the air toward it's target, racing against a burst of red and gold plumage. He wanted to move, to do something, but the air fought against him like it was composed of treacle. He shouted, but even that seemed to die as soon as it left his lips.  
  
He saw with crystal clarity as the beam hit its target before Fawkes could intercept. The look of realization barely crossed the boy's features before the sound of rushing death filled his ears. His body crumpled and his wand bounced twice and rolled away as he lost his grip. He was dead before he hit the floor.  
  
All other action in the room stopped. Aurors and Death Eaters alike froze. Everyone's attention was focused on the prone form at Voldemort's feet.  
  
Voldemort blinked his strange red eyes. Hardly believing it himself. He half expected the body to suddenly jump up and curse him into oblivion. He nudged tentatively at the body and the head lolled, knocking the glasses askew.  
  
Slowly a smile crept over Voldemort's grotesque features, and a chuckle began to rise from him until it had turned into high-pitched, giddy laughter.  
  
The Boy Who Lived was dead.  
  
A full minute passed passed where no one moved, there was just the echoing of that hideous laughter, All eyes were on Voldemort and Harry laying at his feet.  
  
"For Harry Potter!" A booming voice uttered the battle cry and it was like the sounding of a horn. The battle resumed with a fire that blazed in memory of their fallen friend. Curses fell like rain upon the backs of the Death Eaters. And even without the help of Harry Potter, the Order and the Ministry Aurors were winning.  
  
Dumbledore never looked so fearsome as he faced off with Voldemort. But Voldemort was still euphoric at vanquishing his enemy at last and was unafraid of his long-time nemesis. Nothing and no one could stop him now. He had proved it. Harry Potter was dead. "Well old man," Voldemort's voice trembled with laughter wanting to escape, "I'm afraid I've killed your favorite."  
  
"There are worse fates than death, Tom." Dumbledore said calmly, only his eyes showed the awesome rage he was feeling.  
  
"I don't think Potter would agree," He smiled evilly, "How you believed you could defeat as powerful a wizard as me, I cannot imagine, and with a mere boy-"  
  
"He was a man." Dumbledore interrupted, the fire showing erupting in his voice. Harry's body was laying at his feet now. He had forced Voldemort backwards without Voldemort's noticing, "He had been a man since he was eleven years old."  
  
"My Lord!" A female voice screeched, " My Lord, we should leave. now!"  
  
"Do not tell me what to do, wench!" He lashed out with his left hand to strike Bellatrix, but he stopped because it caused him to look up. Many of his Death Eaters had been wounded, killed, or had even fled and the aurors and Order members were closing in around them. Lestrange was groveling at his feet, "Forgive my insolence! Please! I only meant that-"  
  
"Shut up!" Voldemort screeched and pulled Lestrange roughly up by the arms," We will finish this later, old man!"  
  
"I expect so, Tom." Dumbledore was able to get in before Voldemort and Lestrange disapparated followed by the remaining Death Eaters who were still able to apparate. The room was silence once more, save for a few groans from the wounded. Dumbledore knelt down at Harry's lifeless body. It once again became the focus of the room.  
  
"Harry! Oh no. Harry!" A flash of red picked it's way through the fallen followed closely by another, and then a bushy brown head made it's way through. The circle of survivors slowly closed in around the body.  
  
"He can't be dead!" Ron Weasley moaned, tears streaming down his face, "He just can't be!" He shook Harry by the shoulder and his glasses fell off, "C'mon Harry."  
  
"Ron... don't." Hermione choked out before she was crying too hard to be able to say anything at all.  
  
"He's not! He's not!" He said fiercely, although he knew he was. Harry's eyes stared sightless into oblivion, no longer the vibrant green they once were. Ron closed his best friend's eyes, fixed his glasses and then slumped onto Ginny's shoulder. Ginny looked as though she were in shock. Her mouth kept opening and closing, but no sound came out.  
  
Luna's eyes glistened and she herself looked as though she were staring into oblivion. Neville gripped her shoulder as if to steady himself. McGonagall daubed at her eyes with her handkerchief while Hagrid blew his nose loudly into his. Moody grimaced and took off his hat. Lupin looked older and shabbier than he'd ever looked before. But Snape glared at Dumbledore.  
  
Fawkes flew down from Dumbledore's shoulder, laid his head down on Harry's motionless chest and wept great phoenix tears. "Stop it!" Ron shouted and tried to shoo the bird away, "It's not going to help! He's already dead. Go on! Shoo!" Fawkes ignored Ron completely, stubbornly weeping on Harry's chest.  
  
The heavy fragrance of incense, something like myrrh and cedar, wafted in the air Dumbledore suddenly pulled Ron back from Fawkes and Harry. "Get back! Everyone!"  
  
The incense smell grew very strong, very quickly, making the air in the room heavy. In a burst of white flames, Fawkes immolated himself. The flames went from white to purple to blue to green to gold to orange and finally to a smoldering red. When the smoke cleared, Harry's body had been reduced to ash, and in the ash was a baby phoenix. 


	2. Requiem

Requiem Rest  
  
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine;/ Grant them eternal rest, lord;  
  
et lux perpetuam luceat eis. / and let perpetual light shine upon them.  
  
Te decet hymnus, Deus, in Sion, / A hymn befits Thee, O God, in Zion;  
  
et tibi reddetur votum in Ierusalem. / and to Thee shall be paid a vow in Jerusalem.  
  
Exaudi orationem meam; / Hear my prayer,  
  
ad te omnis caro veniet. / to Thee all flesh shall come.  
  
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine; / Grant them eternal rest, lord  
  
et lux perpetuam luceat eis. / and let perpetual light shine upon them  
  
~~~  
  
Black candles burned in the Great Hall. Even the Slytherin table showed some remorse for the loss of Harry Potter, more than they had for Cedric Diggory. Draco steered a wide berth around any Gryffindors he saw and especially avoided Ron and Hermione. Whether this was out of respect or fear that he'd get the snot cursed out of him by every Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Huffelpuff, it was hard to say. Perhaps it was because it was now evident that Harry Potter wasn't invincible after all. He was just as human as anyone. And if Harry Potter could die.... perhaps it had a sobering affect on him.  
  
Quidditch would have been Ron's escape, except it reminded him of Harry. He couldn't look at a snitch without his eyes burning, his face turning red, and a lump forming in his throat. It was alright by him that all Quidditch games had been canceled for the rest of the year. The stadium had been hung with black banners emblazoned with the words, "Harry James Potter - 1981- 1998"  
  
The DA continued on with some normalcy (Hermione and Ron both agreed that Harry would have wanted it that way.) even if the lessons usually dissolved into tearful remenisces.  
  
Dobby proclaimed that Harry Potter was the best master he never had. ---  
  
Ron reached over and slammed Hermione's book shut, "What the hell do you think you're doing Hermione?"  
  
"NEWTs. I'm studying for NEWTs." She turned her back on Ron and buried her nose in the potions book she was studying from, " You should be too, they're coming up in under a month"  
  
Ron just looked at the back of her head, "How can you bloody care about NEWTs when... after...after what happened...." He fell silent, "It's disrespectful is what it is." Hermione slammed the book shut with a snap.  
  
"Disrespectful?" When she turned, her face was nearly as red as Ron's hair, "How can you say that? Do you really think I do this because I don't miss Harry?" Her eyes were red and bloodshot, and Ron realized she looked as though she hadn't slept in weeks, "Do you think I do this because I like studying? I do this because I -have- to do this. Harry wouldn't want ... he wouldn't....."  
  
"Alright, Hermione, alright..." This wasn't the first time they'd had similar conversations. "I'll get right to studying for NEWTS." He conceded as a sort of apology. He poked at his ham and eggs, pushing them around the plate. Hermione laid her note book flat on the table and he noticed that the ink had run in several places where tears streaked the page.  
  
Neville staggered into the Great Hall and slipped into a place across from Hermione and Ron. They immediately stopped talking about Harry.  
  
"Hello Neville." Ron said weakly.  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Nice day huh?"  
  
"Yeah." Neville looked up at the enchanted ceiling, but saw the black candles and looked down at the table again. "Yeah, nice day." He put his head down on the table and stared off into space. If Hermione looked as though she hadn't slept in a week, Neville really hadn't. Ron woke up the night after the battle and Neville was crying in his dreams, saying things like, "It should have been me....It should have been me...." and "No! Harry don't!" "Harry!" A minute later, he'd woken up the whole seventh year boy dorms with his night terrors. They continued to occur ever since. Neville was now afraid of going to sleep, for fear that the whole gruesome night would continue to replay itself again and again.  
  
The owls came through the window with the morning mail. Ron, Neville and Hermione watched Hedwig fly to the head table to where Dumbledore sat waiting. She was holding a letter addressed to the Dursley's. It had come back, unopened... again. Any attempt Dumbledore made to contact them had failed miserably. Ron imagined that the Dursleys refused to answer owl mail on principle. They still didn't know about what happened to Harry. Dumbledore would have to pay a visit to them, but he didn't feel safe leaving the students unguarded.  
  
The spirit of the free wizarding world had perished along with Harry, Voldemort now had the weapon of fear. The weapon that had carried him to power in his first reign of terror. But now it was ever so much stronger. He had killed the good, great, famous, invincible, Harry Potter: The Savior of the Wizarding World. People fell like houses of cards under his control. The name of Voldemort had become even more taboo than it had been before. Even You-Know-Who, and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were both considered almost as bad as Voldemort. People now just gave a look, and everyone knew who they were talking about.  
  
Some refused to believe Harry was dead, and the Ministry did nothing to quash this belief. After all, there was no body, no hard evidence. Just the eyewitness reports of a group of vigilante wizards (that would be the Order of the Phoenix) Potter sightings become rampant. People were desperate to believe the boy wonder was still alive and regrouping his fight against the dark lord. The Daily Prophet opened a column just for Potter sightings. Other newspapers followed suit. Surprisingly, the Quibbler was not one of them. The Lovegoods ran a special issue dedicated to Harry, which really amounted to a very long obituary detailing Harry's remarkable life, eulogies from friends and acquaintances, and articles on how to protect yourself against Voldemort and the Dark Arts  
  
In a private ceremony, Harry was posthumously awarded the Order of Merlin, first class- for selfless actions against... (the look) and his followers. The medal was given to Dumbledore for safe keeping until the time he was able to visit the Dursleys and tell them the terrible news. This made Ron remember something he'd nearly forgotten.  
  
---  
  
"Ron, I want to show you something." Harry said quietly, Ron turned over in his bed in the hospital wing to face Harry. It was the night after the events at the Department of Mysteries in Harry's fifth year. The night Voldemort had made his presence known to the wizard world, and they were all recuperating from their escapade. Ron could hear Hermione's steady breathing in the bed opposite them. The moonbeams fell onto Harry's bed, causing it to look like it was glowing of it's own accord. Harry was sitting up in bed, his glasses on, ink on the nightstand, and quill feather in his mouth as a look of tense concentration molded his features. Finally he finished writing and waved the peice of parchment in the air to dry the ink. Then he handed it to Ron.  
  
The moonbeam wasn't over Ron's bed, so he had a harder time reading it. Tediously he figured it out word by word. 'I.... Harry Potter......being....of ..... sound... mind....and..."  
  
Ron blanched, "What did you write this for?"  
  
"In case anything ever happens to me."  
  
"Don't be a prat, Harry, you've got plenty of time to think about this. Like when you're old and have a wife and kids... and-"  
  
"Oh do be serious Ron. I can't plan like a normal person. I'm not normal, I've got a dangerous dark wizard after my blood. So far I've been lucky... very lucky. Eventually my luck will run out. Just like Sirius'" Harry added under his breath.  
  
"Luck has nothing to do with it. Do you think You-Know- oh alright, Voldemort's going to be able to take you? He's already cursed you once, and it backfired. He won't be able to do it again."  
  
"The Killing Curse isn't the only way to kill someone. And I'm probably not invulnerable to that curse anyway."  
  
"Look, what it boils down to is this: you're Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. You've faced the unblockable curse and lived. It's all us normal folks who should worry...not you. Get some sleep Harry."  
  
"I'm giving it to Dumbledore tomorrow. I'm making him executor."  
  
"You're being morbid."  
  
"I'm being practical. And I'm giving you a copy for safe keeping, and one for Hermione too."  
  
"I won't take it."  
  
"Don't be an arse."  
  
"You're the one who's being an arse."  
  
"I am n-" Just then, Neville snorted in his sleep. Ron glanced nervously at the door.  
  
"I don't want to talk about this now," Ron said flatly, "Get some sleep."  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Bloody moonbeam," Harry muttered, trying to find a position where it wasn't in his face.  
  
Harry never said another word about the will.  
  
----  
  
"Hermione?" Ron asked at the reception for the Order of Merlin ceremony.  
  
"Yes?" She'd been quiet for sometime, lost somewhere between thought and memory.  
  
"Do you remember fifth year, after we'd gone to the Department of Mysteries?"  
  
"I don't think I could forget that very easily."  
  
"I know.... but after that, did he...did Harry ever give you ...." He was trying to figure out how to say the word Will without saying the word Will, when Hermione's hands flew to her mouth.  
  
"The Will! I'd forgotten all about it!" This fresh thought of Harry brought more tears to her eyes. The question of Harry's belongings hadn't yet been an issue in the wizarding world, as one half was still digesting the fact that Harry was dead, and the other half was stubbornly denying that he had died at all. 


	3. Kyrie

Kyrie / Lord  
  
Kyrie eleison / Lord, have mercy upon us. Christe eleison / Christ, have mercy upon us. Kyrie eleison / Lord, have mercy upon us.  
  
~~~  
  
It was early on the last Hogsmeade weekend that Dumbledore felt comfortable in leaving the school for Little Whinging. Hogsmeade visits had not been cancelled. Dumbledore felt that getting their mind off things was just what the students needed, especially the seventh years, who knew Harry best and had their NEWTs drawing closer. Two weeks had passed since the death.  
  
"Not going to Hogsmeade, Mr. Longbottom?" Neville, who had been staring out the window at the Quidditch pitch, swung his head around to face Dumbledore.  
  
"No sir." He said simply. Dumbledore clicked his tongue, Neville looked terrible. His hair was sticking out at odd angles, like he hadn't bothered about combing it. His eyes were unfocused and bloodshot and it looked as though he'd lost weight.  
  
"Do you need to see Madame Pomfrey?" Dumbledore said kindly.  
  
"No...I'm, I'm alright." Dumbledore knew he was lying, but let it pass.  
  
"Alright, Neville." He nodded sadly and continued walking, but then he stopped and turned around, "If you ever need to talk about anything. My door is always open."  
  
"Okay, thanks." Neville shrugged, Dumbledore turned to leave, "Professor?"  
  
"Yes Neville?"  
  
"Do you have a minute now?"  
  
Dumbledore vacillated, he'd just told Neville his door was always open, but he had somewhere to go, "Er, actually, I just was going to pay a visit to Harry's aunt and uncle-"  
  
"I want to go!" Neville blurted out before Dumbledore could finish the sentence. Neville's eyes lit up and he looked more awake than he had a second ago. Dumbledore opened his mouth to protest, but then thought better of it. Perhaps it was part of the healing process, some sort of closure, and Neville looked so desperate.  
  
"Very well, Neville-"  
  
"And I think Ron and Hermione should go too... if they want to...."  
  
Dumbledore sighed, perhaps it wasn't a bad idea, and two more couldn't hurt.  
  
"Alright, but aren't they at Hogsmeade?" They had signed up to go, but that was before...  
  
"No." It seemed the three people with the greatest need for a Hogsmeade weekend were precisely the three who didn't end up attending.  
  
Dumbledore nodded, "Why don't you go ask them? I'll meet you in the front hall in fifteen minutes."  
  
"Thanks, Professor." Neville said as he jogged off toward the Gryffindor common room, where he knew Ron and Hermione had been taking turns playing wizard chess and studying for NEWTs.  
  
Dumbledore smiled sadly after him. It seemed he already had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Dumbledore knew that it could only get worse for him. His age of innocence had come to a close.  
  
---  
  
Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Dumbledore arrived in Little Whinging a half- hour later dressed in muggle clothes. It was bad enough they would be the bearers of bad news, they couldn't go frightening them by looking...subnormal. Ron remembered how tetchy they'd gotten when his family had showed up by floo. Neville, who'd never worn muggle clothes in his life, was fascinated by them. This helped to distract him from the task at hand.  
  
Dumbledore, rang the doorbell at number 4 Privet Drive. A bony woman peeked out from behind a curtain in the kitchen and quickly shut it again. There was no movement from in the house for the next five minutes.  
  
Dumbledore rang the doorbell again, and knocked also. No movement. Dumbledore sighed. This was going to be more difficult than he thought. He waited another five minutes and knocked again.  
  
"I saw someone in there." Neville said looking at an upstairs window, "Why aren't they answering."  
  
"Because," Ron muttered, "They've got a thing against wizards. I bet they recognized me." His bright red hair couldn't have been forgotten that easily.  
  
"What are we going to do if they don't answer?" Hermione asked,  
  
"Wait until they do." Neville said quickly. Hermione looked at him, so did Ron. They'd never heard Neville be so assertive, "Well, they have to know don't they? It wouldn't be right to just leave when we know they're in there."  
  
"We could leave a note." Hermione suggested  
  
"That won't work, that's been tried. They won't open them" Ron said, then added after a second, "We could send a howler, it opens itself."  
  
"A howler? Oh that's real nice Ron. A howler announcing the death of a loved one." Hermione rolled her eyes. "You really do have the emotional capacity of a teaspoon."  
  
"Hey! You don't know these people, Hermione. They-"  
  
Just when they thought the door would never open. It did. On the other side was Aunt Petunia, with a rather sour expression on her face, "Come in! Don't just stand in the front like that!" She craned her long neck through the doorway, peering up and down the street, as if making sure that none of the neighbors had seen them. She shut the door quickly.  
  
"Who's at the door mum?" A voice called from the living room.  
  
"No one of any consequence Dudders." Looking directly at Ron. She turned to Dumbledore, "What do you want?"  
  
"Who's at the door, Petunia-" A large man the looked something like a walrus poked his head out of the kitchen. When he saw the group, his small piggish eyes narrowed. He could tell wizarding folk when he saw it, "Oh, don't tell me, the boy's been expelled from that freak school of his and you need for us to take him in full time. I'll tell you right now, I won't have it." Ron, Neville and Hermione's blood pressure went up by several points, but Dumbledore refused to rise to the occasion, even if it was his freak school.  
  
"If only it were something as trivial as expulsion."  
  
Vernon guffawed, "Well, get on with it then. State your business at once, or I'll call the police."  
  
"That won't be necessary, Mr. Dursley. ah. perhaps it would be best if Harry's cousin was here to hear what I have to say as well." Again, Vernon's eyes narrowed.  
  
"I'll not have my son exposed to the likes of you." he said icily. Dumbledore sighed again... they always made things so difficult, "It's bad enough that ruddy pigeon keeps turning up all this week. No respect for people's private lives"  
  
"Very well then," Dumbledore said crisply, "You can inform your son when you find it convenient. Nevertheless, it would have been easier if you answered my owls." Dumbledore pulled a medium sized jar from out of his breast pocket. It could only have fit there by magic. A look of fear and loathing crossed Vernon's face, "I am afraid I have some terrible news. Harry was involved in the fight against a dark wizard, as you may know already. During a skirmish with the enemy, Harry was struck with a powerful dark curse." Dumbledore paused, "I'm very sorry, but your nephew is dead." Hearing the events of that night again made Ron, Hermione, and Neville go very pale.  
  
There was a stunned silence, punctuated by the canned laugh track coming from whatever show Dudley was watching.  
  
"Why....why don't we all go in the kitchen?" Petunia said, heading for the kitchen herself.  
  
When they were seated around the table, Dumbledore continued, "Perhaps it will be of some consolation to know that the curse kills instantly, he felt no pain." Neville looked like he was going to be sick, "And he died a hero's death, saving a friend." Neville looked like he was about to cry, Dumbledore put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, Petunia held her hand to her mouth, Vernon still didn't look convinced, "If you have any questions, I will answer them the best I can."  
  
"Have the funeral arrangements been made then?" Vernon asked.  
  
"Yes. Harry's body has been cremated." There was no use telling them about how it was cremated. He put the jar he'd been holding onto the table. It was decorated with phoenixes and griffons and the handles were golden snitches.  
  
"And there aren't any charges, are there? We aren't going to be billed for that expensive looking urn?"  
  
Dumbledore's lips went very thin, like McGonagall's and his eyes turned an icy blue, "No, of course not."  
  
"Good. The boy's freeloaded off of us all his life, he doesn't need to do it in death." He'd said the wrong thing. The cup of coffee in Vernon's hand exploded, spraying hot coffee and porcelain shards onto him. He immediately glared at Dumbledore. But Ron and Neville stood up and began talking at once. Ron's face was as red as his hair and Neville had gone very pale and had a wild, sleep deprived look about him.  
  
"How DARE you talk about Harry like he's some kind of-"  
  
"You horrid, horrid monster! How can you say that about a human being-"  
  
"lazy layabout. Harry was the hardest working wizard I know! It's not his fault that Voldemort was after him-"  
  
"Harry was the kindest, most generous wizard I'd ever had the good fortune to know, and if you had any sense of human decency at all, you'd see that."  
  
"If it was up to him he'd be living with his parents. God knows he never wanted to live with the likes of you!"  
  
"He's been more decent a person in his seventeen years than you've been in a lifetime! Now I see why Harry-"  
  
"That will do, you two," Dumbledore said quietly and both Neville and Ron sat back down. Hermione was staring, shocked at Vernon's callousness.  
  
"Did I just hear someone say Harry's dead?" Dudley peeked into the room holding a large bowl of ice cream.  
  
"Yes, I'm afraid it is true." Dumbledore said. He didn't feel quite so sorry for these people as he had a minute ago.  
  
Dudley shrugged and got the chocolate syrup from the fridge, "Oh. Got himself blown up at that freak school, did he?" He sounded just like a younger version of Vernon. He reminded Ron of what Malfoy might be like in Goyle's body.  
  
"Are there any other questions?" Dumbledore said, not as gently as he had the first time he asked.  
  
"What happens to the protective charm?" Petunia asked quietly.  
  
"The charm of course has been broken."  
  
"What will happen to us?" Petunia screeched, "How am I supposed to protect my Duddykins from Voldemort?" Petunia wrung her hands, "Potter, getting himself blown up, just like his parents. Just like them..." She muttered.  
  
There was another ringing silence, "How do you know about V-Voldemort?" Hermione asked.  
  
"How could I not know!? My sister went to your freak school too! She brought home clippings of newspapers, the kind with moving pictures, about how the Dark Lord had begun to target mudbloods and their families. That was when the house next door to us blew up, and there was a great cloud that looked like the oily haired boy's tattoo. She said that they had meant to target us! Can you believe it? All because of some sort of cock and bull story about a prophecy. But they got the houses mixed. And then my sister and her freak husband went into hiding. Where did that leave us? I tell you! Inconsiderate! We could have been killed by that group of snake freaks. And then they were blown up and we got landed with a ticking time bomb. The only consolation was that we were protected from that maniac with a wand! The only decent thing my sister ever did! We vowed to never have anything to do with your lot again. We'd had enough, thank you very much. And then you," She pointed a bony finger at Dumbledore, "you go and send him his letters! You couldn't take a hint that we didn't want him to go. But you insisted. Didn't you! You said it was his destiny! But what happens instead? He gets himself blown up, just like his parents!"  
  
"You're precisely right, Petunia, what happened to Harry is my fault." Dumbledore said quietly, "I refuse to deny my responsibility in Harry's death. I have made a terrible error. More of an error than you can even imagine. If you only knew. But what I have done cannot be undone. The only thing now to is to not allow history to repeat itself." He seemed to have aged rapidly during Petunias tirade, he looked his age, "If that is all, " Dumbledore stood up from the table, "I will leave you now."  
  
"But-" Petunia began, but Dudley cut her off.  
  
"What about Harry's things?" Dudley wanted to know.  
  
"What?"  
  
"His school things... his clothes.. his ...stuff." Leave it to Dudley to think of something like 'stuff'.  
  
"I'm glad you asked that, I nearly forgot. Harry had a will. Wizarding law forbids the passing of wizarding artifacts to muggle relatives. However, if you still wish to hear the reading of the will, you may attend. No doubt your generosity will be rewarded." Dumbledore said with a tinge of acid in his voice the students had never heard him use before, "I've scheduled to be read at Briar and Nettlethorne's Attorney's at Law, they handle cross wizard/muggle cases. It will be at three o'clock next Friday." Dumbledore stood up and the three others followed suit. "We bid you good day,"  
  
"And don't forget your urn." Vernon called after him.  
  
Ron snatched it off the table. He was glad they didn't want it. He didn't want any part of Harry to stay in that horrible house. And so Harry left the Dursley's for the last time. 


	4. Dies Irae

DIES IRAE / The day of Wrath  
  
Dies irae, dies illa / The day of wrath; that day,  
  
solvet saeclum in favilla, / it will dissolve the world into glowing ashes,  
  
teste David cum Sibylla. / as attested by David together with the Sibyl.  
  
Quantus tremor est futurus, / What trembling will there be,  
  
quando iudex est venturus, / when the Judge shall come  
  
cuncta stricte discussurus? / to examine everything in strict justice.  
  
Tuba mirum spargens sonum, / The trumpet's wondrous call sounding abroad  
  
per sepulchra regionum, / in tombs throughout the world  
  
coget omnes ante thronum. / shall drive everybody forward to the throne.  
  
Mors stupebit et natura, / Death and nature shall stand amazed  
  
cum resurget creatura, / when creation rises again  
  
iudicanti responsura. / to give answer to its Judge.  
  
Liber scriptus proferetur / A written book will be brought forth  
  
in quo totum continetur, / in which everything is contained  
  
unde mundus iudicetur. / from which the world shall be judged  
  
Iudex ergo cum sedebit, / So when the Judge is seated,  
  
quidquid latet, apparebit; / whatever is hidden will be made known:  
  
nil inultum remanebit. / nothing shall go unpunished.  
  
Mors stupebit et natura, / Death and nature shall stand amazed  
  
cum resurget creatura, / when creation rises again  
  
iudicanti responsura. / to give answer to its Judge  
  
Quid sum miser tunc dicturus? / What shall I, wretch, say at that time?  
  
Quem patronum rogaturus, / What advocate shall I entreat (to plead for me)  
  
cum vix iustus sit securus? / when scarcely the righteous shall be safe from damnation?  
  
---  
  
"They're horrible, horrible people," Hermione said on the trip back to Hogwarts. "Poor Harry! Having to stay with them. It's a wonder he grew up so well, with people like that as guardians."  
  
"It's a wonder he grew up at all. Had I known they were that horrible, I would have made sure Mum and Dad allowed him to stay every summer."  
  
"He had to stay with them during the summers, Ron. Because of the charm. He needed to be in the house of his mother's blood, remember?"  
  
"Yeah, a fat lot of good it did him. He might as well have been unprotected and happy."  
  
Dumbledore looked frightfully fragile and old, sitting in his muggle clothes, staring off into space as the subway train rushed onwards, not at all the fiery image of justice he had been in their last encounter with the Dark Lord. He'd said hardly a word since they had left the Dursleys, and his eyes seemed to have lost the merry sparkle they always held before, even the hard glint of ice that had been there when talking with Mr. Dursley seemed to be gone.  
  
When Hermione addressed him, he almost didn't hear her, "What did Harry's aunt mean by a prophecy?"  
  
Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak, but then thought better of what he wanted to say. He started again, "I promise to tell you all, however here is not a good place to do it," He glanced around the train car. Hermione did too.The car was empty except for a little old lady carrying her shopping. Hermione nodded to Dumbledore and said nothing more about it.  
  
----  
  
When they got back to Hogwarts, it was about lunchtime. So the four went down to the great hall where they met Snape, on his way out, "Mr. Longbottom," Snape nodded, "Mr, Weasley, Miss Granger." He did not adress Dumbledore.  
  
Since Harry's death, Snape had been acting very oddly. He hardly would look at Dumbledore, and even more rarely spoke to him. Snape had always been on the more reserved side, but this went beyond that. Something had changed in their relationship. Every time Dumbledore went to talk to him, he found an excuse to leave the room.  
  
That wasn't the only odd thing about his behavior, Hermione noticed, during potions, (the only one of the four to get enough OWL's to be in his advanced class) he seemed to have stopped giving her a hard time, although Hermione got the sense that it wasn't any sort of kindness stemming from Harry's death, or the terrible way he had treated her in the past, it was more like a rebellion. There was a sense of defiance, every time he complemented the way she chopped her bryndle weed just right, or when he used her potion as an example to the class, or didn't refuse to call on her like he used to do when he knew she had the right answers.  
  
"Severus, may I speak with you?"  
  
Snape turned, he'd been walking towards the Slytherin dorms, "Can it wait, Headmaster? I have some business I must take care of."  
  
"I'm afraid I may have allowed this to wait too long," Dumbledore said, "Won't you....?" He motioned to a door that Ron knew lead the quickest way to Dumbledore's office.  
  
Snape threw a swift glance at Hermione, "Miss Granger, I will speak with you later about your report on how to bottle fame, brew glory, and stopper death." He then followed Dumbledore, who was giving him a very odd look, out of the room, leaving the children to the food and drinks Dobby had brought them.  
  
For a moment, Hermione looked confused, she had no such paper due in Snape's class. But then she figured he must have meant the report on the properties of the Mimbulus Mimbletonia. Although she couldn't think why he had put it in so queer a fashion. Bottling fame, brewing glory and stoppering death had not been within the scope of her research.  
  
---  
  
"You are going to tell her, aren't you, Severus." Dumbledore said once his office door had closed.  
  
"No. You are. Or she'll figure it out on her own, she's a clever enough witch. I won't, however, stop her."  
  
"Yes, Miss Granger is very clever." Dumbledore refused to look at him, instead he looked at an envelope, unopened on his desk. He sat down.  
  
"And when she does figure it out," Snape pressed, "She will be a force to be reckoned with. Or else she will be a broken shell. The cleverest of her class, reduced to a husk. It will be up to her which path she choses." He said pointedly, "The choice you have is, will you tell her, or won't you? Either way she'll find out." Snape's eyes were shining as emotions built up over weeks, no, years, finally were allowed to be vocalised, "I was hoping she'd figure it out before the damage was irreparable. It's too late now. Your last line of defense has been a casualty of-"  
  
"Do you want me to say I made the wrong decision, Severus? Well then, I admit it. Yes, I made the wrong decision. There. Feeling better? Because I don't. What I have done is far, far more hideous than anything Voldemort has accomplished. How I manipulated, what I have done to Harry, to Sirius, to Neville and to the wizarding world itself is unforgivable. But it doesn't negate I had good reasons for what I did, I had the best of intentions."  
  
"The road to hell is-"  
  
"I'm already there, Severus. Paved with intentions and all." Silence reigned over the room. The only sound was the whirring of devices on Dumbledore's tables and the soft breathing of Fawkes.  
  
"For a while," Dumbledore said quietly, still not looking up from the envelope, his face was contorted with the pain of severe remorse; his eyebrows were knitted together and his eyes shone with unshed tears, "I really believed it was Harry. I truly believed that, that I had made the wrong choice after all. After that day with the Philosopher's stone...I couldn't have been more thrilled. I was convinced he was the one, that my brilliant plan had backfired and I had chosen the wrong boy. I was already having second thoughts, you see. Thank god, I thought, thank god I'd made the wrong choice. And then Harry defeated Voldemort's diary, and beaten the basilisk and rescued Miss Weasley. That helped to assure me that I had indeed made the wrong choice. And then Voldemort returned to power, and yet again Harry eluded him. By that time I was blind with love for the boy. He was like a grandson to me. I hadn't managed to keep my distance like I had promised myself I would, I told him that once. I was so blinded by love for Harry's welfare, that I began to believe my own lies. I was sure he was going to be the one to fulfill the prophecy. In the begining, it was about the big picture. My concern was defeating Voldemort. It was only later when I realised that choosing the right boy would really be doing the wrong thing. But I was consoled in the fact that I was sure I'd chosen the wrong boy."  
  
"You're going to have to tell the right boy." Severus said slowly and with a gentleness that one would not expect from him, "You're going to have to tell him the whole truth. Everything. Yes. he will hate you for it. But the fact reamains that we are running out of time. The Dark Lord is drunk with his success at vanquishing who he believes was his enemy. At the same time, Harry's death, after his fame had been made so public, has broken the spirit of the population. They are offering little resistance, even less than last time. What would be the point? If Harry Potter couldn't escape death, than how could they?"  
  
Dumbledore was sitting very still, his face wet with tears, but his eyes were focused on a device in a side cabinet. It was the device which had given Dumbledore the reassuring reading of the smoke serpents. It had been one of the things that convinced Dumbledore that Harry was the one mentioned in the prophecy, finally allaying his fears that he was putting an innocent in harms way. He took it out again, and the smoke serpents still danced. That shouldn't have been. It seemed clear to Dumbledore that Harry's essence was divided with voldemort's through the scar, but the snakes shouldn't have been showing that now... Harry was dead, and Neville had no such scar connection.  
  
Severus broke through Dumbledore's thoughts like Harry's final death knell. "Your decoy is gone. We must act before Voldemort discovers that his enemy has not yet been vanquished." 


	5. Rex Tremendae

REX TREMENDAE / GREAT KING 

Rex tremendae maiestatis, / King of awesome majesty,

qui salvandos salvas gratis, / who grants salvation to those that are to be saved,

salva me, fons pietatis. / save me, o fount of Pity.

* * *

"You wanted to see me, Professor?" Hermione peeked her head inside Snape's office, she was hoping she hadn't caught him at a bad time.

"Yes, Miss Granger, come in." Snape ducked down to pull out a paper from a file drawer. It was Hermione's report on the properties of Mimbulus Mimbletonia. He laid it flat on the desk. Hermione nervously glanced at the paper and took a seat. It was full of red correcting ink.

"I wanted to talk about your report. This paper is not at all up to you usual standards," He began, flipping to towards the end of the report, "Look at the sources you've listed." He pointed to one of them, "'1001 Magical Herbs and Fungi' Are you a first year, Miss Granger?"

"No sir," She sank lower into her chair. Hermione's face was bright pink, she wasn't used to being berated over the quality of her reports.

"Then why would you use such a cursory text?"

"Well, actualy that particular source I used to get an overview of the plant, to give me ideas on where I might look for further, more specific information."

"I see. How about this one." He pointed to 'The Care and Feeding of Exotic Magical Plants' by Seymour Krelborn.

"Professor Sprout recommended it."

"Professor Sprout is not interested in the science of potionsmaking."

"I've heard they go hand in hand."

"The fact remains that you haven't looked hard enough. You didn't use the resources available to you effectively."

"I'm sorry professor..." She said fretfully, "I ... I know it's no excuse, but I've had a lot on my mind."

"Yes... well, to show that I am not completely without empathy to your loss, I've decided I won't give you a poor mark," Snape handed the roll of parchment to her, "I'm going to allow you a do over. You have three weeks to write this report over. I hope that you will do better this time."

"Thank you, professor!" She would have never have expected this sudden generosity from Snape, "I'll get started right away." She almost tripped over the chair in her excitment to leave the room.

A minute or so later, Hermione knocked on the doorframe of Snape's office door, "Umm.... excuse me, Professor Snape?"

"Yes Miss Granger?"

"May I please have a pass to the restricted section... for my report."

"Certainly, you may." He signed a permission slip which was already sitting nearby and handed it to her.

"Thank you, sir."

"Good luck, Miss Granger."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione stopped back at the seventh year girls dorms, she needed her notebook. She went over to the large pile of notebooks that sprawled across her bed. In preparation for her NEWT's, she had gathered up all of her notes from the previous six years, but they all had been haphazardly thrown onto her bed when Neville came running into the common room to tell them Dumbledore was going to the Dursley's.

She searched for her most recent notebook, shoving the others aside, they promptly slipped off of her bed and all over the floor. scraps that were marking important pages flew all over the floor.

"Oh no!" She quickly tried to put them back again, but there were too many. Finally she gave up and gathered the notebooks to her, but something caught her eye.

"Bottle fame, brew glory, stopper death..." It was her potions notebook from first year, "hmm...." She took the notebook along with her and headed for the library.

By the time she got to the library, she had an idea of what she was looking for; Snape had obviously meant for her to find more applications of the Mimbulus Mimbletonia. She had mostly kept to the theoretical aspect of the cactus' magical properties, and did not bother listing actual potions and incidences of use. She decided first to look under herbology in the restricted section. "Poisonous Plants and How to Use Them to Your Advantage." "Gardening for Goblins." "Protect Yourself Against Hedgehounds and Other Class XXX Garden Pests." "Devil's Snare and You"...

She thumbed through some of these titles and a few more, but none seemed to contain information she hadn't already found out on Mimbulus Mimbltonia. She tried a different angle.

"Potions.....potions......fame.... glory....poisons...." Her hand brushed the bookshelf. 'Potions for Gaining Power', 'Not So Ethical Potions through the Ages'. 'Begining Necromancy: Potions and the Power to Call on the Dead' 'Potiones for a Bettermente of Statione' 'Deadly plant-based Poisons'

She took out the last book, but there was nothing on Mimbulus Mimbletonia. She went for the one next to it, 'Potiones for a Bettermente of Statione' It contained all sorts of fascinating potions that did everything from making you temporarily beautiful, to something like a liquid form of Imperius.

She thumbed to the index, "Mimbulus Mimbletonia...mim...mim..." Suddenly several heavy books came crashing down on her head.

"Ow!"

Draco ran around the corner to help pick up the books he'd knocked off the shelf from the other side, "Oh dear, I thought I could reach it, must've lost my balence." he smirked,

"Right."

"What're you doing Granger?" He glanced at the shelf again, "Looking for a potion to bring Potter back to life? That can get rather messy you know. And usually you'd need a body."

"You would know, Malfoy."

"Hey, just trying to be a helpful." He smirked, "Of course," He said in a mock confidential tone, "According to the Ministry, Potter isn't even dead. So you don't have to worry. He'll be back, right as rain."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "If you believe that, you'll believe anything."

"Oh I don't believe it. I've seen him myself." Hermione's heart gave a little leap but then plummeted back down to where it was again, remembering who was talking, "So what are you doing in the restricted section Granger?"

"I could ask you the same question, Malfoy."

"Oh but I asked first."

"Okay then, I've got nothing to hide. I'm looking for more information on the Mimbulus Mimbletonia, for Professor Snape's essay." She flashed her permission slip at him.

Malfoy wrinkled his nose, "Wasn't that due a week ago? I do believe you're losing your touch."

"I can only imagine what you're here for," She smirked back.

Draco prepared some smart remark, but his vision shifted to over Hermione's shoulder, "Longbottom!" He barked, causing Madame Pince to glare at them. Hermione followed Draco's gaze to see Neville, shrinking away behind a stack of books, trying unsuccessfully to make himself invisible.

"And what brings you to the Restricted Section, eh, Mr. Longbottom?"

"N-nothing... none of your buisness...." Neville muttered irratably, "Just something for Professor Sprout is all."

"Let's see what you have here..." Malfoy took the top book off of Neville's stack of books, Herbologist's Journal Special Edition: 12 Dissertations on Magical Cacti from Around the World.... sounds fascinating.... no... no wait...it sounds utterly boring.... still not sleeping Longbottom?" He sneered, "Why don't you ask Miss Granger to read you her report on that stupid plant we learned about in potions the other day, I'm sure that would put anyone to sleep."

"What plant was that Hermione?" Neville's eyes focused in Hermione's general dircction. If he'd been less exhausted, he would have sounded truley interested.

"Oh don't ask her, apparently Snape's making her do it over, it was so terrible."

"C'mon Hermione, I want to sit down with these. Malfoy, give me my book."

"And what if I don't want to?"

"Then I'll just have to take it, won't I?" Neville dropped his other books with a loud thud.

"Oh Neville, don't!" Hermione said surprised, this wasn't like Neville at all.

"Shut it, mudblood."

Neville had his wand out in a flash, "Call her that again and you die Malfoy,

"Neville!" Hermione gasped,

"Shut up Hermione, he's had this coming for years." He turned back to Malfoy's frightened face, "And don't think I won't, I haven't slept in a week and my thinking isn't what it should be...I might just act on pure animal impulse." A wild, insane grin spread across Neville's usually befuddled looking features, adding to the effect of the sleep deprivation.

Without another word, Malfoy fled.

Neville dropped exhaustedly to his knees and didn't move for some time. At first, Hermione thought he'd had some kind of fainting fit, but then he proceded to pick up the books he had dropped.

"A-.. are you okay, Neville?" Hermione said gently, hurredly rushing to help Neville with his books.

"No! No I've got them, Hermione, don't worry about it." He snatched the books Hermione had collected from her hand, "Thanks."

"Are you sure? Because I don't mind helping you carry them, "

"No, really I'm fine, I can handle it, honest." He tried to smile casually, but it only served to remind Hermione of the wild grin he'd worn when threatening Malfoy.

"You weren't seriously thinking about killing Malfoy, were you?"

Neville snorted tiredly, "Hermione, this is _Neville_ your talking to. As if I _could _have killed him even if I wanted to. You know me, I barely know which end is up on a wand."

"Now Neville, that isn't true, you do a tremendous job in the D.A. and you know it."

Neville was silent for a moment, " Yeah, I guess I do okay."

"I ... I think Harry was proudest of you. You know....out of everone in the D.A."

"Thank you, that's very kind of you to say." Neville's stride lengthend and Hermione almost had to jog to keep up with him,

"I'm not just saying it, Neville, I know he thought that...he told me so once." Neville dropped his books onto a table and began thumbing through the one on top, not even knowing exactly what he was looking for, "He said out of everyone that you made the most progress and that he thoug-" Neville slammed the book shut, causing Hermione to jump,

"Shut up, Hermione okay!? Just shut up! I'm not anything special... I'm just a nobody! I'm not smart like you, or funny like Ron, or really powerful like Harry. I'm just Neville the Screwup, who can't do anything right, I'm....I'm not anyone worth dying for!" He slammd his head down on the book, trying to cover the fact that he was crying again.

"Don't say that! Don't ever say that! Harry considered you just as much of a friend as he did Ron and I."

"Why'd he have to go and do that Hermione!?" Neville said, muffled between tears and the cover of the rune dictionary he was stubbornly pressing his face against, "Why couldn't it have been me? Why couldn't it-" He couldn't speak anymore amid sobs he unsucessfully tried to hide. He sat for five minutes, quietly sobbing until he had himself under control again. He lifted his head to dry his eyes on his sleeve, "I'm so tired, Hermione. I just want to go to sleep, but I can't, because I know the dreams will come again. I don't know what to do."

"Sowulo" Luna said as she wandered by Hermione and Neville's table.

"huh?" Neville said, trying to make himself look like he hadn't been crying.

Luna cocked her head, shrugged and pointed at Neville's face, " Sowulo, the rune, it's on your forehead, did you know?"

Neville felt his head, then looked down at the book of runes he'd been burying his face in.

"Oh!" Hermione gasped, " That looks like..."

Neville scooped up his books, and jogged from the library, covering his head with his arm.


End file.
